Family Is As Family Does
by LittleMender
Summary: Tag to 4x06 Where in the World is Carmine O'Brien? He had given her time, knowing the good-bye had been difficult, and he knew she wouldn't want him or anyone else to see even the residual effects.  But he was here now to give comfort and assurance.


**I really enjoyed last night's episode. Jane seemed to look at Lisbon **_**a lot**_** (I'm hopeless), and the crime was interesting and sad (with too many subtle parallels between Lisbon and the victim). I liked that Lisbon's brother was a total doofus and that he was played by the E.T. kid. And Annie was a great character, cast perfectly, down to the slightly husky voice. I really would've loved a follow-up conversation between Jane and Lisbon, but Bruno and Dave didn't write one, so I thought I would—even though I do not own the Mentalist, any of its characters, plots or scripts and receive absolutely no financial consideration or remuneration for anything I write on this site.**

FAMILY IS AS FAMILY DOES

He had given her time.

He knew the good-bye had been difficult. Tearful. And he knew she wouldn't want him or anyone else to see even the residual effects. So, he had given her time and space, waiting for the initial pangs of fear and regret and swallowed pride to pass. In turning Carmine O'Brien over to Tommy, she would've had to have at least offered a tacit acknowledgement that she was wrong . . . apparently a near impossible feat for any Lisbon.

She was sitting in her office, staring at her computer screen, hands resting lightly on the paperwork spread on the desktop. His cup of tea and saucer in one hand, a mug of the same for her in the other, he snagged a passing agent to pull her door open just enough to be able to hook it with his elbow and pull it wide so he could enter. When she didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge the drink offering he placed in front of her, he moved quietly to the couch, sat, and took a drink from the turquoise cup. Perhaps he hadn't waited quite long enough.

"I just keep seeing him, that gun pressed to his head, Chad backing away, swearing to pull the trigger. It all happened so fast . . ."

Her voice, soft and fragile, floated across the room before fading away. He knew she would feel this way, would be unsettled by all that the past few days had wrought, and this is why he was here now. To offer comfort and assurance.

"We both know things have a way of doing that. But everything is fine. Everyone is all right, and you got your man. Can't really blame Tommy for what happened at the Ellington."

"Oh, I don't." She lifted her head, and he felt himself pinned by her level gaze, like a butterfly in a collector's shadow box. "I blame you."

At his startled expression, she continued. "You released a murder witness and possible suspect—"

"As it turns out he was neither," he countered, still startled and a little unnerved that she might be angry with him over this, the one possible unforgivable.

"Beside the point. And you turned him over to Tommy when I had expressly said he couldn't have him—"

"But _you_ gave him to Tommy in the end."

"You had no way of knowing I would do that."

He couldn't help grinning at her. Sometimes she was just so _amusing_. Her eyes narrowed then closed. She held her hands up, palms out as if trying to protect herself.

"I can't . . . I can't do this anymore."

He felt something harden in his stomach. When she opened her eyes and saw the look on his face, she waved her hands over the papers on her desk.

"I mean this. I can't concentrate on any of this." He swallowed his relief and nodded at her in sympathy before taking another sip of tea. He could only guess at the paperwork the past two days had generated for her, due to both his actions and her brother's.

"'Everybody's safe' you said. 'Just don't worry. It's all gonna turn out fine.'"

His eyes shifted momentarily away then came back to her. "And so it did."

"Yeah," she huffed incredulously. "After a whacked out crack head nearly killed my brother."

"That wasn't going to happen." He sounded so smug. She wondered if it was too late to justifiably punch him.

"Why? Because you're never wrong? Your plans always work perfectly?"

"No." He took a quick moment to consider. "Although, there is that."

"Then how could you be so sure he'd be all right?"

"Because you were there."

Her face crumpled in confusion. "What?"

"You were there, and I knew you wouldn't let anything happen to anybody. Everybody _was_ safe."

"Chad was out of control, I had no back-up—"

"I had your back."

"That's hard to do from the other side of the door," she snarked, still unable to believe he thought it was all that simple.

"I knew you had everything under control. That's what you do. You come to the rescue," he said, raising his cup to his lips.

She drew in an unsteady breath. "Sounds like something you count on."

He paused just before taking the sip. "As surely as the sun rises."

"What about the day I don't make it?" she queried hesitantly, not wanting to think about the possibility of it herself.

He savored the drink appreciatively, staring down into the cup as he lowered it. "Hasn't happened yet. Not in over seven years. You always show or leave a trail for reinforcements. Now drink your tea before it gets cold."

She said nothing in answer, knowing there was nowhere they could take that particular conversation without both of them embarrassing themselves. He watched her with equal amounts curiosity, concern and patience as she idly picked up the mug and took a long draught, swallowing hard.

"This case sucked."

"Oh, it wasn't so bad. Really fairly interesting as murder cases go."

"Is that your criteria? How _interesting_ the case was?"

"Well. What's the 'criteria' for _your_ assertion?" He took another sip of tea, his eyes still on her.

"Hm. Let's see. First, I find out that my baby brother is a bounty hunter—"

"Bail enforcement agent."

"—and that he brought Anna Beth along—"

"Annie."

"And then Cho was nearly killed—"

"He was back at work the same day."

"He shouldn't have been."

"Be that as it may, it's beside the point. Continue." He gave a broad sweep with his hand as if making a grand gesture.

"Isn't that enough?"

"Not enough to make your case."

"Well . . . there was Zubov."

"Who tried to seduce you."

"He did not."

"Did too."

"Stop saying that."

"And who could blame him? You were quite fetching."

"Ugh." She closed her eyes against the memory of the Russian's smarmy smile.

"We did arrest him, remember."

"_Grace_ arrested him." Her eyes opened and cleared with a new objective. "That reminds me. You need to watch it there."

"Where, exactly?"

"With Grace. She's . . .," she paused, looking for the right words, not wanting to talk about something she thought the younger agent might not want discussed. "She's still a little vulnerable and not as—" he watched her archly, wondering how she would finish. "—cautious as she should be," she said carefully, fully aware of his gauging her.

"Oh," he chuckled but without real humor. "She's a potential Molotov cocktail, no question."

"Then why did you egg her on?"

"I didn't egg anything," he explained patiently. "Zubov was going to just walk away. Something in her couldn't accept that. She needed an outlet, so we drew him out."

"You entrapped him."

"We stopped him."

"Yeah, but for how long? The D.A. will never be able to make those charges stick."

"We'll see. Maybe the best we can hope for is that he'll think twice before he assaults another woman. He'll never be sure exactly what he's up against."

She let it go. He was right—about Zubov _and_ Grace.

"And then there was the whacked out crack head and his overbearing father."

"You sound like you equate the two."

"Well, the father was a little hard to swallow."

Her comment reminded him of their last trip to the Ellington Inn. "You know that _was_ well played—the way you brought up Chad's father when he balked at going along with you. A spark of brilliance that."

He raised his cup to her in a toast, and she predictably refused the credit.

"No genius needed. Chad's problem with his father was fairly obvious."

"He saw something in his son—weakness. He didn't like it, didn't know how to correct it and had to deal with it the best he could."

"He was pretty lousy at it," she snorted.

"Not everyone has your touch." She really couldn't tell if he was serious, or to what degree. "And," he continued, "it should afford you some relief."

"How so?" She tilted her head in question.

"Some families have much worse problems than a little brother that wants to do right by his daughter and impress his big sister."

She was willing to concede him the point.

"Speaking of Anna B—"

"Ah-ah," he corrected.

"Annie," she acquiesced in good-natured sheepishness. "She wants to be a cop."

"Mm. She's smart, good instincts. And she certainly has the right DNA. Wants to imitate her hero. You must be proud."

"I tried to talk her out of it."

His brows raised in genuine surprise.

"I don't want this for her."

"Even though you love the job." It was almost a question.

She shrugged and looked away uncomfortably. "I'm suited to it."

"And because Annie is a well-adjusted, happy and beloved girl, it wouldn't be right for her." He made it sound like he was trying to suss out her logic, but she knew what he was about.

"I mean it's a hard life. You have to make choices."

"Like about whether to have a well-adjusted, happy and beloved child?" As soon as he asked it, he knew it was too personal, too close to what may be the truth. But she didn't flinch, and he was glad.

"Something like that."

"You know," he said suddenly, mischief lighting his eyes, bold with her tolerance of his previous words, "it's not too late for you. I mean, obviously _some_ men still find you attractive, and even though your biological clock is ticking away, it's still gotta be pretty far from the witching hour . . ." His voice trailed off at her glare, and he tried not to grin in satisfaction that he'd actually said all he wanted to and wasn't really frightened a bit.

She grumbled something about having her chain yanked by all the men in her life, and he tilted his head away from her, grin shining in full force now.

"You know what I mean," she growled.

"Are you going to finish that tea?" he asked, smiling softly and lifting his chin toward the mug she white-knuckled.

"No." She frowned down into the murky liquid. "It's cold . . . and it's herbal. You know I don't like that crap."

"For your nerves."

She looked up at him and squished her lips in annoyance, setting the offending tisane aside.

"No more schemes," she said suddenly, reestablishing command. "No more plots, no more . . . pickpocket lessons where my family is concerned. As a matter of fact, I'd prefer it if you just stayed away from my family from now on."

"Not a problem," he said readily as he settled his cup and saucer on the arm of the white sofa. "Close proximity will not be necessary." He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a small piece of paper. "Annie slipped this to me before she left."

"What is it?" she asked, curiosity and worry coloring her tone.

"Her e-mail address." He drew his eyebrows together in consideration of what was written on the paper and murmured to himself, "And I'm thinking about joining Facebook."

"You will not e-mail her."

"Oh. Still not a problem." He withdrew his phone from his vest pocket and scrolled through something on the screen. "At some point she lifted my phone and added her number to my contact list."

"What?" Lisbon cried out as she leapt from her chair and strode across the room, reaching for his phone. He pulled it back from her grasp with one hand, the other raised and extended toward her to keep her from coming too close. She pulled up short just before they made contact and stood stock still, her eyes darting between his taunting look and the phone in his outstretched hand.

Thwarted, she seethed at him. "My brother will never let his daughter trade e-mails and phone calls with a strange man."

"Annie and I are friends. And I introduced myself to Tommy after your triple take-down."

"That _isn't_ what I meant," she said pointedly.

It startled a high-pitched gleeful chuckle out of him, and he was willing to take the joke. She looked at him flatly, and he swallowed his mirth.

"You need to stop trying to make it up to him," he said softly. With her it was always carry on about one thing when it was really something else that was bothering her. She deflated, and he moved the cup and saucer before she collapsed on the sofa's arm.

"I can't stop worrying," she sighed dejectedly.

"I didn't say that. I know better than to ask the impossible. He's got to make his own way, and you can't keep trying to make it easy or safe for him."

"But it's dangerous. And he doesn't know exactly what he's doing. I mean, he took a class? What does that even mean? And he's dragging Annie along with him, turning her into a manipulative, sneaky—" She wrinkled her nose at the word.

"I don't think you can fault Tommy with making her that way . . . DNA, remember?"

She swatted at his upper arm, the blow landing harmlessly. "Shut up."

"Oh, come on," he said teasingly. "You can do better than that. Sure you don't want to throw a punch? Rant? Rave? You know I can take it."

The memory of her yelling at him in the elevator lobby rose in her mind's eye, and she groaned and dropped her face into her palms. There had been people on the stairs, agents in the elevator, listening, watching.

"This has not been my finest hour," she moaned.

"Oh, grow a pair, Rese. Everybody has an off day."

She raised her head and glared, standing and straightening to her full five-foot-four, and pointed at him, her fingertip mere inches from his face.

"You," she pronounced dictatorially, "are never to call me that again."

He looked at her in disappointment and huffed as he questioned, "Ever?"

"Yes . . . Ever." And then she suddenly smiled brightly, and neither of them were sure if she really meant it. Still, he knew that with Auntie Rese a little went a long way and any future possible use would have to be made sparingly.

"I thought we were family," he pouted.

"We are," she assured him quickly before she fully relaxed, her fingers slipping into her front trouser pockets as she rocked forward and back and looked down her nose at him. "You're just the black sheep."

He tilted his head away from her again, squint his eyes and stuck out his tongue, and she had to fight the urge to squeeze his cheeks until it hurt. Instead she smiled, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Very mature. Going into your second childhood already."

"Meh. Never left the first behind."

For just a moment, shadows fell behind their easy smiles and a look of mutual understanding passed between them before skittering away.

"Well, it's time for all boys to be in bed. So I'll leave you to it." She turned and collected her things and headed for the door, forgetting all about the mug on her desk.

"So long, farewell, Auf Wiedersehen, goodnight, little liebling."

"Adieu, adieu, trouble-meister."

She waved airily over her shoulder and sauntered out of the room without looking back. He rose from the couch, pocketed his phone and collected the tea things to take them to the break room. After washing up and putting away, he returned to her office to lie on the white couch. He stared up at her ceiling, fingers laced together and hands resting on his chest and mused to himself. He would never have guessed that family took so much looking after.

**END**


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